


Opposed

by cowboykylux



Series: Flip Zimmerman/Reader Uploads [9]
Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Handcuffs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 21:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21022898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: “You want me to do what?” He asks, one quiet evening as he’s hanging in the doorway.It’s dark in the house, only a single lightbulb in the kitchen on, the only thing illuminating the space. You’re glowing, looking so gorgeous under it, but somehow sinister at the same time.He can see a spark in your eye, and he knows, he knows what it means.





	Opposed

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends! This was inspired by this prompt a kind anonymous user submitted: How would flip react the first time you asked him to fuck you while you're wearing handcuffs, and told him you wanted to be spanked a little? 😘😘 
> 
> enjoy!

“You want me to do what?” He asks, one quiet evening as he’s hanging in the doorway.

It’s dark in the house, only a single lightbulb in the kitchen on, the only thing illuminating the space. You’re glowing, looking so gorgeous under it, but somehow sinister at the same time. He can see a spark in your eye, and he knows, he knows what it means.

You beckon him forward, from your spot sitting on the kitchen table, and you spread your legs to accommodate him. He slides himself between them, jacket still on, boots still on, having just come home from a long shift at work.

It’s cold outside, so cold that he can feel the heat between your legs radiating, calling out to him.

“You heard me.” You say with a scheming grin, and it clicks in his brain, clicks that this is a game.

He’s more than happy to play.

“Say it again.” He all but orders, as he shrugs his jacket off lazily, slowly lets it fall from his shoulders, hangs it up on the coat rack in the kitchen.

You’re blushing now, and he has to will his hands not to immediately grip your thigh, your throat. Instead he lets them smooth up your arms, lets himself get lost in the soft feeling of your exposed skin. You’re not naked, not yet, but soon.

_Cuff me, _you had said, _cuff me and fuck me and hit my ass so hard I’m never bad again._

You manage to catch hold of one of his hands, bring it up to your lips. It’s not long before you’re kissing at his palm, licking at his fingers. He curls his index and middle finger against your tongue, slips in his ring finger to add to the mix. You suck on them, take them into your mouth, moan around them enough to get Flip hard – as if he weren’t already hard the minute he came home to you.

You let them slip out of your mouth with a wet pop, spit stringing between them, and he’s almost too eager to tug aside your panties, let those wet fingers wriggle their way into your pussy.

You sigh, lean back on your elbows, the kitchen table strong and sturdy underneath your back, and Flip’s mesmerized as he watches his fingers disappear into you, in and out, your thighs quivering.

But this isn’t what you had in mind, he knows, knows with the way you gasp.

“I’ve been bad, detective.” You moan when he presses his thumb to your clit, presses it down and rubs sweet circles there that have your back arching just the littlest bit, have your nipples stiffening against the thing fabric of your sleep-shirt, “I think I need to be taught a lesson.”

If the sticky haze of lust hadn’t been clouding his vision, he’d be telling you that no actually, you’ve not been bad at all, you’re never bad actually, didn’t actually do anything wrong – but that’s not what this is, not what you want right now.

“Yes, you have been.” So he says, “Hands behind your back.”

And oh you bratty thing, with your legs spread for him and your tits pushed up and out, you look at him through your lashes and smirk, “Make me.”

He removes his fingers without any grace, winds them around your wrists and hauls you up off the table with ease. Sometimes you forget, forget how strong he is, how capable he is.

The thick cords of muscle in his arms flex and you can’t help but moan out just from the sheer force of how turned on you are, just from the sight of him. He’s got your wrists in his grip and he pulls you close, could lift you clean off the floor, feet dangling, if he wanted to.

“Watch it,” He hisses, cock so hard he’s sweating, “Or else I won’t be so sweet to you.”

He speaks through a clenched jaw but you only kiss and lick at the corner of his mouth, knees turning inward as your cunt drools for him at the promise. Because it’s not a threat, not really – no, it’s a promise.

“Maybe I don’t want you to be sweet, maybe I need some…” You break character for a second, let out a little laugh of nerves and love and affection that has Flip’s scowl softening, because really this is just fun, just a bit of roleplay, just a bit of, “Rough handling.”

“She likes it rough, does she?” Flip whispers, like it’s some dark dirty secret, and you tip your head back just the smallest bit and let out a breathy whine, because,

“Yeah, she does.”

He’s got fast fucking reflexes, your man does. Fast, so fast that you don’t realize you’re being spun around, being bent over the table, shoved against the wood. Your stomach swoops, disoriented for a moment before you can feel the cold bite of cuffs clinking around your wrist where Flip’s no doubt already left bruises.

He’s kicking your feet apart with ease, heavy boots shoving your ankles wherever he wants them, right there in the kitchen, and you can only gasp when he rips your panties off of you, tears them right in half. The fabric never stood a chance against your husband, but that was the appeal in buying them.

He has you bent over the table, wrists crossed and cuffed, and bare ass presented to him in no time flat, and he really just has to take a minute to admire the view. Normally he’d never, wouldn’t _dare _treat you like this, but he’s grateful for the opportunity to not have to hold back, grateful to show you exactly how rough he can be.

“It’s not very fucking nice,” He growls, stepping out of his boots and working on getting his cock freed, “Turning on a man like this and thinking you’re not gonna do anything about it.”

He wants to fuck you right now, right then and there – but that’s not fun, that’s not drawing out the game. So instead he strokes himself off, watches as you squirm on the table, watches as your thighs press together, desperate for friction.

“I’m sorry.” You whine, gasp, and he chuckles darkly.

“What’s that? I didn’t hear you.” He lies, takes a step forward and guides the head of his cock to your folds, slides them between your lips and coats it in all your slick, watches as you drip onto the floor.

“I said I’m sorry!” Your throat clicks on your own spit, as your hips press backwards against him, hoping to catch his cock and get it actually inside you, hoping he’ll relent.

He doesn’t, he’s not convinced yet.

“Mmm, no you’re not, whore.” He says as much, before grabbing your bound wrists with one and and hauling you up off the table with only as much as a, “Come here.”

He walks you to the couch where he sprawls out leisurely, makes you stand in front of him. You’re stunning, absolutely gorgeous, with a big red spot on your cheek from being pressed down onto the table, spit shining on your lips. He rips the night shirt off just as he did with your panties, lets it fall around your elbows, exposing your tits to him.

He spreads his legs and strokes off his cock some more, just to the sight of you standing before him, cuffed and unable to do a damn thing about it. You’re frowning, pouting, because you love to be the one who tugs at his cock, and your wrists involuntarily tug at their binding, making Flip tsk.

He abandons his dick for a moment to yank you down across his lap, careful so that your face hits a couch cushion and not the hard arm-rest – he doesn’t want you actually hurt.

You’re draped beautifully over his crotch, and the angle is bad but he can rub his dick against your pussy, can tease your clit with the head of his cock as he smooths his hand over your ass. 

“So smooth, no one’s taken you to task in some time, isn’t that right?” He hums, and your nipples brush up against the coarse fabric of the couch as you moan out a yes. He almost wants to smoke a cigarette, wants to just finger you until you’re crying – except you already are, just from the stimulation of it all. “No wonder you’re such a brat.”

“Detective please – ” You gasp out as the head of his cock presses up against you once more, again a wrong angle, there’s no way he can fuck you like this…but he _can_ slap the shit out of you.

“I don’t want another word out of you unless it’s to tell me you want to come, got that?” He hisses, pushes your head down into the couch cushion to smother you for a minute.

You nod, shift your knees around just a little, push your ass up closer to his face.

“Good.” Is all he says, before the first smack cracks through the living room, leaving you keening.

He doesn’t spank you often, he’s usually too afraid to do real damage. He could, could leave real welts, but he never wants to hurt you, never wants to actually do such a thing to you. He restrains himself, but you’re still wet, still drooling from both ends, still begging for it with the way your pussy is fluttering against his aching cock.

So he spanks you again, and again, again again again until you’re being pitched forward from the force of it, until he’s almost off the couch to get better leverage, until your ass is red and there are hand prints covering half your fucking cheeks, until you’re starting to swell.

And then he spanks you some more, until you’re crying, a babbling mess, nothing coherent – exactly as he wants you.

As the last slap mars your skin, as you’re gasping for air, he tangles a hand into your hair and pulls you up and over, settles you so that you’re sinking down onto his cock, your back pinched up from the handcuffs in front of his face.

He watches as his cock slowly slowly slowly buries itself into you, and he has to moan, just has to, because fuck it’s such a sexy sight – you’re so sexy, it kills him sometimes.

You moan and gasp the whole way down, and only once he’s bottomed out does he let his hands slide around your front, one splaying over your pussy and the other squeezing at your throat.

He pulls your back flush to his chest, and fuck now he’s really sweating, the heat of your body warming him through all his clothes, because of course he’s still fully clothed. You whine and cry at the rough chafing of his denim jeans on your thighs, rubbing where he spanked you hard, and he just sucks on your neck, bites on the junction between your throat and shoulder.

“I’m going to fuck you, and I’m going to come so deep inside you that you’re going to taste it, and then maybe, maybe, I’ll take these shiny cuffs off your wrist.” He kisses the spot right below your ear, experimentally rolls his hips up.

“Flip!” You gasp, nearly toppling over. His grip on you keeps you upright and you’re this close to begging, he can feel it from the way you’re clenching around his cock.

He knows you want to bounce and rock and fuck yourself onto him, but he’s going too slow for that, moving too deliberately. It’s driving you crazy, and he licks up the tears that stain your cheeks. 

“What did I say baby?” He smooths your hair down with the hand that had held up your throat, and you tip your head back so it can rest on his shoulder, eyes shut tight, trying trying trying your best for him, “You gonna try and be good for me?”

“Uh huh.” You whine, because the least you can do it try. 

“That’s what I thought.” He smiles, rolling his hips again.

It’s not long before he grows tired of that position, wanting to rail into you like no one’s fucking business.

So he does, maneuvers you onto your back, plows into you with little care or grace, desperately chasing his own orgasm.

“God this pussy’s so fucking tight.” He growls, leans back enough to see how there’s practically no room in your cunt for anything, his cock stuffing you completely full. Your walls suck him back in every time he pulls out, and that is like pure heroin to him, just watching that, “Fucking vice grip on my cock, feel that? Feel how it won’t let me go?”

“Hhh…” You can’t speak, too wrapped up in your own pleasure, and pride surges through Flip’s body.

Because while he’s on top, he’s in charge – it’s all for you.

And you’re tense, so tense just from the stress of it all, the intensity, the force. You love it, but it’s overwhelming.

“Relax for me, let your hips drop – there, good, good girl.” He praises you when you follow him, when you do as he says, as you relax enough that he can slide in impossibly deeper – so he can rub against that spot inside you that makes your eyes fly open with a big gasp. “Oh that’s it.” He grins, knowing he’s found it. 

You’re sobbing, and your cunt is making the most obscene noises, squelching from just how wet you are, messy messy messy. He’s concerned for a minute with the way you’re hiccupping, holds your face in his hand as he thrusts, nudges your cheek with his nose.

“Are you – ?” He asks, but before he can say okay, you’re nodding, kissing him, moaning into his mouth.

“Yeah, don’t – don’t stop, please, please.” You’re begging, and as long as you’re still feeling good and safe, he’s more than happy to continue.

“Okay, okay, fuck, _fuck _(Y/N).” He just has to slam his fist down on the couch cushion, just has to pin your hips plush against him, sweat dripping down his nose and onto your back, punching out high moans and gasps and pleas out of you.

“Come in me?” You beg, “Please Flip, detective, please, come in me?”

And his brain really trips up at that, because he’s not wearing a condom, and he knows you’re not on the pill, and yes you’ve already talked about it but it’s still surreal to think he can do it, he can have that, he can fuck you like this.

“How can I say no – oh shit – to such a pretty girl?” He asks, and you have enough frame of mind to be a brat once more, enough to look over your shoulder, entirely debauched and slutty.

“Don’t,” You grin, “Don’t say no to me.”

And that’s that, he thinks, until he’s not thinking anything at all.

“Fuck – !” He bites down hard on your shoulder, draws blood, can taste the copper in his mouth.

“Can I come? Please let me.” You’re so close, he can feel it, and he nods, not wanting to deny you anything, ever.

“Come on my cock baby, let me feel this cunt of yours gush on me.” He encourages, thrusts you through it, pumps his come deep inside you, so much of it that it’s already oozing out of your cunt, already smearing against his cock as he fucks it all back inside you.

You come with a scream, and the both of you go limp, nothing but raspy breathing and wet gasps.

After a while, after you’ve both come down from the high of orgasm, you can’t help but laugh. Flip laughs too, heart so full, even though he’s exhausted, he’s still so full of love for you.

“That was awesome.” You mumble against the couch, grateful for the removable upholstery, grateful that you’ll be able to clean up this mess in the morning.

You wiggle around, but Flip holds you still.

“Hold on, let me – ” He offers, voice soft as he un-locks the cuffs, eases the cramps out of your arms. He winces at the red marks on your wrists, leans down to kiss them. “Careful, you’re going to be sore.”

You grin up at him with lazy hazy eyes, pucker your lips for a sweet kiss that he’s so so so eager to give you, kisses you even as you’re smiling against his mouth.

“Good, means you get to wait on me.” You say, sleepy and cheeky, “Hand and foot.”

“I already do ketsl.” Flip whispers, and you nod, because damn right he does.

“Kiss me a little?” You ask, and he hums out a small laugh against you.

“Oh I’ll kiss you more than just a little.” He promises, wraps his arms around you and keeps you warm as you shiver slightly against him, the after-sex warmth starting to disappear.

The slow slide of your tongues is soothing, a balm against all the stinging aching soreness. He’ll run you a bath tomorrow, he decides, to help with all the soreness you’re bound to have.

When the kisses become harder and harder to make out due to silent giggles, euphoria buzzing in your veins, he pulls back enough to rub his nose against yours.

“Where’d you get the idea to want that?” He asks, genuinely curious as to what you get into when he’s at the station.

“I dunno, was just thinking about it recently. Knew you wouldn’t be opposed.” You blush, and Flip hums.

“No, I’m very not-opposed.” He agrees, making you laugh once again, just because everything is funny and beautiful and floaty and, “You’re fucking perfect, you know that?” He just has to ask, because you are, you are you are you are.

And you, the angel that you are, gives him a rosy smile with a simple wink and a very cheeky, “Yeah.”


End file.
